


Night in 'Snining Armor'

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Derek is a Failwolf, F/F, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Oblivious Stiles, Pack Feels, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek Hale, SO MUCH FLUFF, Spark Stiles Stilinski, but stiles is still stiles, desperate housewives - Freeform, envious Derek, give it it a try!, im sorry, pack fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First ever attempt at Female Stiles Stilinksi. Please give it a shot! I kept Stiles the same, just different pronouns and gender.</p>
<p>Everytime I write Sterek, Derek is always jealous. Why is that?</p>
    </blockquote>





	Night in 'Snining Armor'

**Author's Note:**

> First ever attempt at Female Stiles Stilinksi. Please give it a shot! I kept Stiles the same, just different pronouns and gender.
> 
> Everytime I write Sterek, Derek is always jealous. Why is that?

Derek coming through the Stilinski’s house is usual. Stiles’ room, to be specific. Quite often. Almost every week, sometimes more than a couple times, depending on the status of evil in their town. 

But, the thing is, today’s is supposed to be everyone’s off day,

They’re dealing with a ‘coven of witches’ (as it’s easiest to describe,) but Stiles is done. A few days ago, she sort of lost it, throwing a mini tantrum that went sort of like…

_“Stiles, calm down,” Lydia had says, harshly, but there’s concern in her voice. And tiredness. If that’s a word. And it only angered her, because Lydia is always at her best, at least pretending she’s okay. And here she is, hair tied in a horribly messy bun, with no make-up, and dark bags under her eyes._

_But the worst of all?_

Lydia Martin is wearing sweatpants. _Honest to god,_ sweatpants. On Lydia Martin. Lydia Martin in sweatpants. Sweatpants. _Let’s repeat that_. **Lydia my-dogs-don’t-even-see-me-in-the-morning-before-I-look-absolutely-perfect Martin is wearing sweatpants**

 

_Stiles gaped a little, stupidly, when she saw her emerge like that. She didn’t blame Lydia, at all, because Stiles was wearing similar clothing, but, still. Hey, maybe it was a milestone in their friendship. Or… pack? Whatever. It should’ve made her happy that Lydia’s comfortable enough to dress down in front of them, but it only made her angrier. Angry that Lydia had been reduced to this. (Stiles didn’t mind this side of Lydia, but Lydia a year ago would’ve never done this, and Lydia present day will still frown upon it once she gets a good night’s rest and realizes her state.)_

_“No, I’m not going to calm down, Lydia,” Stiles hisses before turning back to Scott, “I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all so_ tired, _Scott. But you know what? I’m a teenager. We’re all, mostly,_ teenagers _!” she spared a glance to Derek, who sits in the corner, tiredly reading a bestiary given to them by Deaton. By this point she has stood, and has most everyone’s eyes on her. Malia’s asleep in a seemingly uncomfortably position, with her head leaning backwards and body crumbled awkwardly on a wooden chair. Kira, Scott, Lydia, Derek and Liam, however, get to watch first row as she explodes._

_“And you know what I should be doing? Having a good time. It’s Friday night, and you know what I’m doing? Reading hundred year old books on witches and witchcraft and sparks and researching the internet for articles that might, just might, be useful. And we’ve been doing this for hours. And don’t pretend you don’t know Danny’s having a party tonight, and that’s where most normal teenagers will be. I know we have some sort of civilian duty, as the local supernaturals, to keep our town safe, but goddamnit, I’m tired. Look at Lydia! She’s in sweats, guys. Sorry for the objectification, there, but it’s helping my point. Look at what this has done to her! And Malia’s so tired she fell asleep with us in the room. Feral, I-don’t-let-anyone-see-me-with-my-guard-down-because-I’m-a-Hale, Malia, fell asleep in here. With us. And if that doesn’t tell you something, I don’t know what will.” she gestures to her awkward position, and Malia stirrs, probably being woken by Stiles’ increasingly louder voice._

_“We need a break, all of us! I want to go out and party and be stupid sometimes, too. I’m seventeen! That might be selfish, I know, and I feel guilty, but I just can’t do this anymore,” her voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word. “Liam’s only fifteen. Fifteen, and look where he is. We’ve been fighting things for weeks without a break, and we haven’t sleep in nineteen hours. At this point, I’m pretty sure our blood is forty percent coffee and energy drinks, okay? There’s only so long we can hold it together like this. I can’t be brushed off anymore!” Stiles says, pressing her lips together at the end and willing herself not to cry, because she’s not a toddler, and she will not cry whenever she gets tired._

_Scott’s face softens, and he stood, grabbing Stiles into a tight hug, which she quickly returns. He rubs her back soothingly, like he does whenever Stiles has a mental breakdown._

_“It’s okay, Stiles. We all feel the same way. You’ve kept it together really well, we all know that. It’s not selfish,” he whisperes, and god bless his soul, really. His voice is soft, soothing and sweet in only ways Scott can be. Stiles never questioned his true alpha business. Stiles sniffs, squeezing onto Scott tightly as stupid tears welled in her eyes. “Hey,” he says, “Don’t cry, don’t cry… I think it’s time for everyone to get some sleep, alright? And,” he swallowed, seeming to make a decision in his mind, “Tomorrow’s off. No research, no wolf business, no drama. Just a Saturday night for teenagers to do teenage things. We’ll pretend we’re humans, just regular fifteen and seventeen year old humans, okay?”_

_“Scott,” Derek began, and Stiles lifted her watery eyes to meet Derek’s face. Even Derek was tired, his shoulders sagging a little, and blinking slowly. It was sort of adorable. “You know –“_

_“I know that my pack needs a break, Derek. I’m the Alpha, and it’s my responsibility to take care of them. Look at them,” he said sternly, confident in his response, “Lydia’s in sweatpants. How much longer can they go on? They need a break.”_

_“Hey,” Lydia retorts a few seconds slow, her eyes narrowing._

_Scott gives her a silent apology, and she rolls her eyes._

_“So tomorrow,” Scott said, “Tomorrow is our cheat day, okay?”_

_Stiles snorts a little, retracting herself from Scott, “And every other day is like going on a tofu diet. Got you.”_

_Scott smiled tiredly, and the packs’ mood lightened a little. “Yeah. Everyone, go home. We’re done for tonight, okay?”_

 

…Which is why today, she’s standing in her bathroom in front of the mirror, holding a hot piece of metal to her head when Derek bursts in, calling her name. She startled, hissing when her fingertips graze the curling iron from hell. “What the hell, Derek?” she says breathlessly, letting the curl down and putting a hand to her chest. 

Derek stands outside the bathroom, eyes narrowing and head tilting a little bit at her. “Stiles,” he begins, but Stiles quickly cuts him off. 

“No. No. Derek, please do _not_ tell me you’re here for _it_. _It_ , being supernatural drama, by the way, of which we were supposed to be relieved of tonight.” When there isn’t a response except tightly pressed lips, she sighs exaggeratedly, moaning a whine, “ _Derek_ , no, please!” her body sags with her complaint, pouting out her lower lip a little. “No! Stiles is ready to have a great night away from that. In fact, Stiles was promised that. And Stiles follows up on her promises. And also needs to stop talking in third person. Derek, listen to me, I am almost done getting ready, and I will not waste forty minutes of efforts worth on curling my hair and doing make up, okay?”

Derek pauses for a beat, skeptically looking over her hair and clothes. “Where are you going?”

She beams at him, “I was hoping someone would ask. I got a date! A date. Like, the first real date ever. Not that I’ve been on fake dates, because I don’t think that’s a thing. Unless it is. I don’t know what the definition would be, though. Is that a thing? Do you know of a thing called a fake date? It has a bad sound, like a set up or something. In that case, I definitely haven’t been on one. Unless this is going to be one,” her eyes widen and she looks in horror at the werewolf. She pauses. “He _is_ really cute. Totally out of my league.” She laughs then, “Well, everyone’s out of my league. But, I mean, like, he is _really_ out of my league. But he was nice! He wouldn’t stand me up. Right? Right. Shake out of it, he wouldn’t do that. You’re charming and great, and he’ll love you. Okay, that’s overshooting –“

“Stiles,” Derek says impatiently, and whoa, what crawled up his pants? Probably Stiles. She manages to do that without trying. A talent, really.

“Yeah, right, sorry. Nervous rambling. Where are we going? The cute little coffee shop downtown. He wanted to take me out for dinner, but you know how I am around food,” Stiles chuckles, “Wanted to make a good first impression on him. Can’t do that if I have rib sauce all over my face and in my hair.” At Derek’s blank look, she blushes, “Sorry, I’m nervous. Really nervous, dude. Okay, so what was it you wanted to tell me?” she adds, suddenly noticed the bitch face Derek’s wearing. 

Derek’s nostrils flare, “It can wait,” but his tone clearly says otherwise. He’s irritated, no doubt, because she’s ditching the pack for tonight. “Just… Be careful,” Derek gives a blunt nod, and then turns away. 

Stiles lets go of the last curl, quickly unplugging the iron (because she may or may not have started a small fire that way at fourteen) and rushing out of the bathroom. Tumbled, would be a better word. Damn that carpet. Derek turns around, giving her a weird look as she trips over seemingly thin air. 

“The heels,” she mutters as a weak explanation, glancing down at the small heels that were damn near impossible to walk in. But they’re cute, so, it’s probably worth it. “Look, uh, Derek,” she awkwardly manages, holding the side of the doorframe and barely looking at him. He raises an eyebrow. “I know you’re usually… Tense,” that’s sugar coating, “But tonight… It’s like our night off. You should do something fun. For yourself. Like, maybe yoga, you know? Hot yoga? You seem like the person that would exercise for fun. Which is kind of gross, but you do you. Different strokes for different folks.”

Derek smiles a little, and by little, she means _little_. The corners of his mouth quirks in a miniscule way. But his eyes – that’s the way Stiles can tell. Amusement lights up in them, and his eyebrows raise just a little. It’s a beautiful look, and she wishes she could see him smiling, like actually _grinning_. But she’ll take what she can get. 

“Yeah,” she grins, crossing the room ungracefully. She pats his leather jacket, only, like, forty percent concerned that he'll slam her against her wall and threaten to kill her. Which is improvement. Definitely. “There you go, big guy. Go have you some fun! Go to a bar,” she takes back her hand, instead looking up into his eyes. “Have a couple drinks that have no effect on you, whatsoever, and then find a nice lady, or man –You know I don’t discriminate - to hook up with.” She chuckles, giving him a fail of a wink, “If everything goes well, we’ll both end up getting laid. I am so ready for that,” she groans, but wears a loose smile. 

Derek’s ‘smile’ falls quickly, face pinching in its place. His nostrils flare again. What? Where did she go wrong? He was just smiling! She had gotten Derek to _smile_ and now it’s like someone killed his cat. Wow, he looks really constipated.

“Derek?”

“I have to go,” he says through his teeth, and quickly hops out the window. Stiles watches, eyebrows knitted together. She wonders what she said wrong – what could have offended him? She just told him to have fun! Go to yoga and activities, go to a bar, meet a – oh. 

Oh. 

That’s why. Derek has horrible luck with women. Seriously. One turns out to be a psychotic murderer, and well, the next is a darach. And then, there’s Braden. It was a couple nights fling, but Derek being Derek, grows a little attached and then hurt when she left. 

They have their suspicions that Braeden cared about him, too, but they both didn’t trust each other enough to actually form a relationship. 

When she left, everyone noticed the way Derek was a little extra grumpy and sad. Even Lydia gave him a few more smiles and greetings than usual. Stiles forced him into a pack hug with Scott. He hopes Derek was just pretending to hate it. Stiles loved it, of course. Her two favorite people in a group hug? Amazing. Malia, being Malia told him to get over it, and was insensitive as always. Liam just frowned, unsure of what he could do. Derek and Liam have no history, and they’ve never bonded at all. They’re not that much different, though, Stiles thinks. 

So, yeah. Maybe Derek is sworn off dating or something. Was that offensive? Suggesting getting laid? 

“Fuck,” Stiles mumbles, feeling guilty. She leans her head out of the window, “I’m sorry! I take it back! _Don’t_ have a one night stand with a hot stranger! Just go to hot yoga, okay? Okay!”

She freezes, wide eyed when Patricia from across the street stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Stiles’ window. 

“Hi Patty!” Stiles yells, making sure to wave exaggeratedly. “How are Charles and the kids?” Patricia slams the mailbox shut and stomps back into her house. “Alright, I’ll take that as a ‘Good, Stiles, how’s your dad doin’?’ The answer is good! He’s really trying on his new diet!” Stiles grins, pushing down her window and crossing the room. She has to leave now if she’s going to make it in time. 

 

The coffee shop is warm when she gets there, and Stiles lets out a breath of relief when it hits her. Her cheeks are probably red from the cool air outside. The overwhelming smell of coffee is the first thing she notices besides the heat, and _man_ , no werewolf would last in here. _No_ – no thinking about werewolves. Or any of that. At all. Not tonight. 

A smile, albeit forced, plasters its way on her face. There’s a good dozen people in the cozy place, some with friends, some working on computers, and other just people watching out the window with a cup. She scans the room for her date, and a real smile works its way on her face as she spies the a-dork-able guy waving brightly. 

She only trips once on the way to the corner booth. 

“Stiles!” Sam greets brightly. 

“Sam,” Stiles can’t keep the grin off her face as she slides down into the chair across from him. 

“I’m so glad you came,” Sam says, but it’s not that lightly. I’m so glad you came? What’s that supposed to mean? 

“Why? Have you been stood up before?” frowns Stiles. Sam is cute, and she can’t imagine anyone standing him up. They’d have to be stupid to do something like that. And rude. Very rude.

Sam chuckles, “No, no. Not that, never mind. I’m just glad you’re here,” he smirks. The waitress comes over, offering a beverage and they order coffee. Sam drinks a Frappuccino, and Stiles just orders black coffee.

Stiles smiles, “Me too. I have to admit, I was surprised when you asked to meet me here.”

“Really?”

She tucks a curl behind her ear, blushing a little, “Yeah, well. It’s not every day someone asks a Stiles out.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Stiles raises her eyebrows, “Because if they had, then you’d be taken right now.”

Stiles laughs, shaking her head. “Wasn’t sure where you were going with that.”

“Besides,” he continues, “You’re really… Interesting, you know?” He leans his elbows on the table, body language indicating he’s interested in her. Hell yeah!

The waitress sets down the coffees with a smile, and Stiles thanks her. Sam doesn’t pay attention to her, instead stares at Stiles, making her blush. 

“Yeah?” she sort of snorts. Because if there’s one thing she’s not, it’s interesting. “How’s that?”

“Like,” he thinks for a second, “Your name. Stiles. That’s gotta be a nickname, right?”

Stiles gives him a sideways look, “Yeah, actually. It’s short for a Polish name. It’s really not that interesting,” she laughs. “But I get asked about it a lot.” She takes a sip of her coffee cringing and flinching a little when she burns her tongue. Play it off cool, Stiles. She tries not to twitch as she sips more of coffee that apparently came from molten lava.

“So what’s your real name?” he asks, suddenly very interested. He’s leaning forwards, in her space. 

She chuckles, scratching her head, “Uh, not one you’d want to know. How’s your Frappuccino?”

Sam frowns, but then it’s gone so quickly she doesn’t remember if she’s really seen it or not, “No, really. I am interested,” he says seriously. 

Stiles laughs uncomfortably, and he seems to realize, as he leans back and chuckles himself. “It’s Polish, Sam. Like, three people can properly pronounce it, and I’m not even one of them. I’ve been called Stiles since Pre-School. If you asked me to spell it, I probably couldn’t.”

“Can you try to say it?” he says, and Stiles shrugs.

“It’s, uh, kind of a family-knows-only, sort of thing. Not that I’m embarrassed! I’m not,” she smiles, “It’s actually my grandmother’s name too. My maternal one.”

Sam nods, like he understands, and then the subject changes. Stiles eases as they shift onto more familiar, comfortable territory. 

They talk about Marvel and DC comics, debating them and discussing their favorite heroes. Sam likes Hawkeye, and Stiles wants to shoot him a little bit. Jokingly, of course. Stiles mentions wolverine, and she can’t remember when she started liking him. Huh. She used to love Captain America and The Hulk.

In fact, she could have go on and on about who would win in a fight, and about how awesome Tony Stark is. She feels she can relate a lot to him, and his sarcastic humor definitely earns points with Stiles. If she were a superhero, she’d probably be IronMan. 

But wolverine is cool, too. Definitely cool. It also helps that Hugh Jackman is a total babe. Well, let’s be honest, everyone in the comic books are totally babes. Stiles has had many, many fantasies about them. 

Somehow, a while later, the conversation drifts to Stiles’ grandma.

“Yeah? What was she like?” Sam says, genuinely interested and Stiles preens. She hates it when people aren’t interested – it’s an easy way to make people feel like shit. But Sam is, and that’s what matters. It’s not often that people are intrigued by her talking.  
“She was awesome. Always let me eat cookie dough, no matter how much my mom tried to scare me with salmonella. She made the best cookies, too.”

“Everyone’s grandma does.”

Stiles laughs, “That’s true. Very true.”

“What was, uh, what was her name?”

Stiles presses her lips together, “I always called her Babcia. It’s polish for grandma. Her actual name was really tough to pronounce,” she chuckles, “It’s actually my real name. Wait, didn’t we already talk about this?”

“Do you think you could spell it?” Sam says, a little intensely. 

Stiles brow furrows, “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Just trying to know more about my date’s family,” he shrugs with a smile. Stiles returns it, nodding. So sweet. Who knows, if this goes far, maybe her dad can meet him. “Hey, what do you say we talk a walk around here?”

Stiles nods, because she doesn’t want to be rude and awkward, but secretly dreads the walk in heels. She should not have worn them tonight. Definitely not. 

 

Stiles is beyond relieved when Sam offers his arm. She grins, taking it with her own. They begin down the chilly street in silence. 

She shivers, laying her head down on his shoulder. 

“This weather is shit,” Stiles comments in annoyance. 

“Shit, are you cold?” Sam says, like he suddenly realizes the temperature. He shrugs out of his jacket, and puts it around Stiles’ shoulders. She smiles, her face heating at that. She’s a sucker for clothes sharing. 

“How are you not cold?” she says suddenly, frowning and motioning to take off his jacket and hand it back. 

“No, no, keep it,” he says slyly, and Stiles wonders if that was an innuendo she didn’t get or something. Like he’d been let in on a joke. “I’ll be fine. Warm blooded.”

“Sam, should I be worried?” Stiles says teasingly, “It’s way too cold out here to just be in a long sleeve. And you drank a frappe in this weather. You might be an ice god or something. ‘Bout to take me to your ice layer like the queen in Narnia or some shit.” 

Sam laughs, mumbling something quiet she doesn’t ask him to repeat. They continue down the street, his jacket hanging on her shoulders. And damn, it feels so good. She’s content, and it’s a perfect date. She tries to hang on to this moment, the way the cool air whips against her cheeks, the sky is clear and beautiful. There’s a warm jacket on her shoulders, and she’s holding his arm as they walk down the dimly lit sidewalk. There’s just enough light to see Sam’s face.

Maybe they’ll tell this story to their kids. 

“What are you thinking about?” she says suddenly, lifting her head up to look at him curiously. 

“Surprisingly, I’m still curious about your name. I’ll only ask once more,” he says, “Will you _please_ try to pronounce it for me?”

Stiles grins, turning away. “Oh, you wish. I don’t tell my first name ‘till the third date.”

 

Sam frowns a little, before his face goes stoic. “I was hoping you’d do it the easy way and it’d be over.”

Stiles’ eyes widen minutely and she tries not to think about how freaky that sentence is. There’s a few seconds of only her heels making a noise. Her heart pounds heavily and she hopes this isn’t real life. “I- you… Easy way?” she risks a glance up to his face. It’s scarily stoic, like he’s a robot. “Sam?” she squeaks. She suddenly becomes aware that they’re not by the shops anymore, instead a darker sections, where the closed stores are. They’re being renovated, and some about to open. One of them is a Starbucks that Lydia’s looking forwards to. “Hey, why don’t we go back towards the, uh, people –“

“No need,” Sam says simply stopping in the sidewalk and, grabbing her waist as she squeaks. She’s pulled into his chest, and he leans his face down. Stiles braces herself for a kiss, but then –

He yanks the sleeves of his jacket around her, pulling them to the front. He knots them quickly, making an easy straightjacket for her. She gasps, struggling. “Sam, what are you – Sam!”

Sam has a malicious look on his face, like he’s not enjoying it, but isn’t going to let up. Like it _needs to be done_. She’s seen this look before, on many psychos like Peter. Except, Peter usually enjoys it.

He puts an arm around her, that may seem friendly from behind, but he’s shoving her towards a building. “Sam – I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you stop now, I won’t –“

“Won’t what, Stiles? Threaten me with what? Because from what it looks like, I have the upper hand. I asked you to do it the easy way, but you had to be stubborn about it, didn’t you?” he shakes his head, “We don’t have the time for any more games.”

“Games? Easy way? Sam, what the fuck are you talking about?” she struggles against his arm. 

“Your name,” he hisses impatiently. 

“My.. Name?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t ask questions.”

“Don’t ask – Sam! This is not a question! Stop pushing me, you asshole!”

She worms viciously. The jacket loosens enough, and she pushes an arm down, reaching to pick up a heel. Stiles nails him in the face with it. He jerks back, like he can’t believe she just did that. Damn right she just did that! She freezes for a second at the look of anger on his face, before remembering to run. His jacket falls on the floor and she picks up her other shoe before running back to the light. 

Adrenaline rushes through her body, heartbeat loud in her ears like a drum. She’s quickly moving, and with this rate instead of the leisurely one it took to get where Sam is, she’ll be back to safety in no time.

Except she’s pulled backwards by air itself. And into his arm with a harsh landing. She kicks furiously over his shoulder, hoping to hit him in the face or balls. “Stiles, it’ll be easier if you don’t struggle.”

_Don’t struggle_? That sounds like murder waiting to happen. Does he honestly believe she won’t struggle? Just let him do whatever the hell he wants with her?  
Stiles screams as loudly as she can, but she’s no banshee. They’re far away from the open stores, and no one’s outside in this weather. She manages another, this time screaming ‘fire!’ before her mouth is shut. Sam’s hand cups over it, hissing a ‘shut up’ as he drags her down to wherever the hell they’re going. 

She panics, not believing this is her life. 

Stiles meets a cute guy, and they share mutual attraction. Cute guy then asks Stiles for a date. Cute guy actually shows up to date. Cute guy then offers her his jacket and arm. 

And then cute guy fucking attacks her. 

Honestly, why not?

Why not, right? 

Because Stiles’ life also needs fucked up people who try to take advantage of her. Yeah. Great. 

 

There’s sheets hanging from ceilings, ladders, and bits of drywall everywhere inside the building they’re apparently needed in. She winces as she’s shoved onto a particularly sharp piece of shrapnel. 

“Plan B,” he calls loudly, and Stiles’ eyes widen, wondering who else is here. Who is he talking to?

“Bring her back here,” a bored sounding voice comes. Stiles vainly tries to fight his arms that drag her forcefully. She makes noises behind his hand. Muffled screams and the shuffling of feet replace the silence. 

‘Back here’ is a little room, the ‘walls’ being four white construction curtains. There’s one other person, a woman. She looks to be in her twenties, maybe, but Stiles doesn’t have time to be Sherlock Holmes right now. It’s too dark to see much of her features, and at this point, Stiles doesn’t think about describing this woman to the police. 

Sam lets her go, and she jerks back, stumbling into the middle of the room. She steadies herself, clenching fists together. 

“Do not bother,” the woman says sharply, and flicks her hand. Stiles’ arms are suddenly bound to her sides, like there’s an invisible rope there. First the air thing, and now this? 

Then it hits Stiles.

Magic. It has to be.

“What the hell is that?!” Stiles yells, struggling to move her own limbs. They’re pinned. 

“You don’t ask the questions, we do. If you tell us your full name now, we will not have any problems. Is that clear?”

“My full name? Why do you need it? Tell me what the fuck is going on!”

The woman hisses in annoyance, throwing a punch to Stiles’ face. She rears back, but it’s not the first time she’s been punched. 

“Elaine,” Sam says sharply.

“What? You know we need to do this, and we don’t have all the time in the world. If this brat would just give us the information –“

Stiles is stunned from the blow, her face instantly throbbing. She straightens her posture, a stony glare taking over her face.

Sam reluctantly nods.

“Your name,” the woman, Elaine, repeats sharply. 

“I already told you!” Stiles hisses to Sam, “I told you: I can’t pronounce it!”

“Do not feed me lies,” she snaps, and another strike hits her face. 

“Elaine,” Sam warns again, and steps in front of her. His face goes soft for a minute and Stiles hates him. He drags her in here, he _manhandles_ her in here, and then pretends to feel pity? Good cop bad cop? Is that what this is? “She’s just a girl –“ Stiles hates him even more. What, because she’s a girl she needs to be babied? Because of her fucking gender, she should be treated like the thing

Stiles stubbornly stares at them, “Not until you tell me why. It’s my right to know why I’m being held hostage. I’m pretty sure it’s in the constitution. Now tell me, god damnit!”

“I don’t see why he needs her at all,” snaps Elaine, and her hand flicks again. “I personally vote to kill her after we’re done.” Stiles is thrown against the wall. Her vision blurs, and those stars come back. She gasps as the wind is knocked out of her. 

There’s louder, frantic sounds, but they’re background noise right now. Her vision swims, and everything hurts. The only focus now is breathing, which is hard to do. She manages upright, palms and knees on the floor as chips of drywall dig into them, but they can barely be felt. 

“Stiles!” someone is crouching down beside her, and she gasps in upmost relief as she recognizes Scott. Half his face is black and swirly, but she can make out his features. 

“Scott,” she chokes out. Scott carefully hoists her into his arms, and man, is she glad he’s a werewolf sometimes. She hangs onto him tightly, though she knows somewhere in the back of her mind he won’t drop her. Scott carries her out, but she can vaguely see Liam, Malia, Kira and Derek fighting Elaine and Sam. She gives in to the pressure, and closes her eyes. 

…

 

She wakes up when there’s a flashlight in her eyes. Stiles jolts, gasping. Her mind is still stuck inside the building, and she expects to see Sam and Elaine hovering above her. 

Instead, it’s Melissa staring worriedly into her eyes, and the pack on the edge of their chairs. It takes a few seconds, but she registers being inside the McCall house. 

“-Iles, can you hear me?”

She returns her eyes back to Melissa and nods. Melissa clicks off the flashlight. 

“You have a mild concussion, I think. There could be worse damage, though. We need to get you checked out at the hospital.” Melissa is frowning, a motherly look on her face. 

Stiles flinches at the implication of being dragged to the hospital. 

“I’m okay,” she croaks. It’s a lie, it’s almost always a lie, but she says it. And she also forgets she’s in a room with werewolves, who all stir when she says that. Melissa and Lydia probably believed it, though, so that’s what matters. She’s not okay. 

None of this is okay.

“Stiles,” Scott says, in that concerned voice of his. She lazily meets his eyes. 

“Hey, buddy.” She glances around his pack, “Everyone needs to liven up. Buzz kills. Major buzz kills.”

Malia gives a disbelieving look, “Stiles, you date just tried to kill you,” she reminds, like Stiles doesn’t remember that. 

“Well,” she says. “I wouldn’t say _kill_ ,” she drags out, frantically searching for something to say to make it okay. “That’s kind of an aggressive word.”

They all glare. Stiles pretends they don’t. “So, did we find out what they are?”

“They’re the witches, Stiles. The sparks. They wanted to bind you to them for your power, or potential power.”

“So why did they need my name so badly? That’s what they wanted, right?”

It’s Kira who answers: “Yes. They can’t do it unless they have you full, birth given name and blood. You’re, we’re all, lucky that you go by a nickname. Otherwise, who knows where you’d be now?”

Stiles nods, and then it goes quiet again. “What’d you do to them?” she asks quietly. 

“They’re dead,” Malia says when no one else answers. Sometimes her honesty is convenient. 

“You killed them?”

“They were going to tie you to them,” Derek says, his voice is angry. 

“What would that have done?”

“It would’ve made you a part of their cult,” Lydia says. “We’re still researching about it, but it wouldn’t have been good. Once you get in… You can’t come back. They would’ve forced you to stay with them, held you hostage and drained you for your power.”

 

“Alright, enough, we’re leaving,” Melissa says, taking Stiles hand and helping her off the kitchen table. Stiles places her feet on the ground, scooting off when she yelps in pain. The parts of glass or wall, or whatever it is, is still in her feet, apparently. Before she realizes, she falling towards the ground. She squeezes her eyes shut, face in a grimace as she awaits the tile. 

Except it doesn’t come. 

Derek’s arms are awkwardly supporting her, until he shifts and picks her up completely. 

Everyone is tense as hell again. 

Stiles wonders how bad she looks to make Lydia tear up, her face twisted with a look of worry only Allison and Jackson have received from her. Even Malia is up on her feet, right beside Derek, as if to catch her if Derek didn’t. Totally progress.

“Whoops,” she mumbles weakly. “I shouldn’t have worn heels.” That probably only makes sense to her, but, whatever. Yeah, tonight totally would’ve been better with flats.

Melissa looks ready to burst. “Car, now.”

…

 

Stiles feels terrible for making them all be there a midnight. Melissa’s still in her scrubs from her last shift, and he doesn’t even want to think about the medical bills her dad will be receiving. 

Stiles sits on top of the hospital bed, feet dangling off the sides as a nurse plus Melissa checks her out. 

On the dozens of forms, they listed: mugged by stranger. Which is believable, apparently. Kira took Liam home, who was more than reluctant, but Stiles insisted they go home. Her whole pack doesn’t need to be here, and there’s a limit on how many people can stay in the room with her, anyways. She’ll be okay. Shaken, yes, but okay. 

“Can I?” Derek asks, glancing at Stiles hand. Her eyebrows knit a little, but she nods. Derek touches the back of her hand with his fingertips, and then it makes sense. She blushes. Derek isn’t holding her hand, he’s taking some of the pain. Duh. 

Black veins crawl up his arms, and Stiles winced. She can feel some of the pain leeching away, but soon feels guilty. She gently pulls back, smiling softly at him in thanks. Derek is disgruntled as always, but this time it feels and looks different. 

He touches her sensitive cheek, making her recoil. Pain leeches from it, and the throbbing stops after a few seconds. There’s a long eye contact moment. His green eyes are clouded, with what she thinks might be pain. Who knows? Maybe leeching pain is worse than regular, or something. She feels guilty once more, and pulls back again. 

“I’m okay, really.” She half-heartedly smiles, “I’ve had worse.”

“You’re still in pain,” Derek says. 

Stiles shrugs, “No blood, no bones.”

“That’s not true at all,” Scott frowns, unhappily. “Yes blood. There was lots of blood!”

“That’s because I’m on my period, Scott.”

“No, Stiles. Your face, and… Have you seen your body? It’s pretty banged up,” Scott replies in disgruntlement. Stiles looks down, and Scott’s sort of right. 

There’s small cuts in a lot of places, but it isn’t too bad. Her feet sting, head throbs, and her body’s aching, yeah, but otherwise, she’ll be okay. 

“Will everyone calm down? Look, I’m here. In the hospital. Being treated for silly little cuts and bruises. Stiles is still intact. Still has her head,” She pauses, then adds in a low, annoyed voice, “And virginity.” She opens her arms wide, “Okay, I know you’ve all wanted to. Come give Stiles some sugar.”

Lydia rolls her eyes fondly, and approached the hospital bed. She gently wraps her arms around Stiles, and Stiles smiles blissfully. She’s way over Lydia Martin, but loves their friendship. 

“You smell awful,” Scott says into her neck, right after Lydia. He practically shoved her away. “Like _them_ and, and, _pain and fear_.” 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Malia comments, nose wrinkling. “It _is_ really bad.”

He holds on for at least a minute, Stiles thinks, as he rubs his face over Stiles’, gently. 

“So we’re going to pretend this isn’t new. ‘Kay.”

“It’s called scenting,” Derek mutters from his chair. “It’s instinctual for wolves, to warn off potential threats to our pack. Which we clearly didn’t do a good job of.”

“Would it have stopped them? If they knew I’m in a pack?” Stiles questions, frowning at Scott, who tries to pull her pain. 

“They already know,” Lydia says. “They don’t care. They still want to get you.”

“Not when half of the circle is dead,” Malia counters. 

It goes quiet. 

“Well? Are you waiting for an invitation? Come on, Hales. Scent me up.”

They don’t need further invitation. 

It’s weird, especially with how much Malia gets into it, but then again, she’s been a coyote for eight years, and is probably eager to mark something as her own. Even if it is a person.

 

…

 

“Melly. Melly-issa. I donut need to stay of- over- ofever, forever. In the hospital. It’s fiiiine. The conclusion is fine. It’ll heal on its own.”

“The concussion?” Melissa frowns. 

“Concussion, yes exactly,” Stiles corrects, “As I was saying, the consultation is fine. I’m ready to go… Where do I go?”

“Stiles, you can’t go home yet. You’re high on pain relievers. It’ll be a while before it wears off.”

“Before what wears off?”

“Your medicine.”

“…What about my medicine?”

Melissa’s eyes narrow. “It’s too late to deal with this right now. Get some rest, okay? And you guys, say bye to Stiles. You can come back in the morning.”

Stiles’ eyes tiredly find their way across the room. She gasps, “Oh hey! I didn’ – I didn’t know you guys were here,” she slurs, “Is it pack night? Are we finally doing that? Oh, man I’m excited. I told you it’d be great. Let’s watch Wolverine. Or Thor! Anything with hot super heroes is fine with me. Hey, you know what? That- remind me. Hot superheroes are like you,” she points to the wall in between Derek and Malia, and the pack watches in a mixture of concern and amusement. “Very pretty. Knight in snining snarmour.”

“Shining armor?” Derek offers. 

Stiles lets out a noise of excitement, “Yeah! You were like rawr and hiss and-d _meow_ tonight… What were we talking about?”

“Okay, You’re clearly doing better.” Lydia smiles, and gets up to kiss Stiles on the forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, first thing, okay?”

Stiles gaps, breaking out into a grin, “Oh! You liiiiike me,” she sings, trying to point at Lydia, but getting distracted by the pulse monitor on her finger. “Hey, what’s that?”

Lydia chuckles again, and walks out slowly. Malia follows, giving Stiles one last meaningful look. The Hale’s way of saying, ‘I hope you feel better and it makes me uncomfortable that you are ill.’

Stiles blabbers on to herself for a couple more minutes before Scott yawns. “Someone should stay with her,” he settles into his chair. 

Derek nods, “I’ll stay.”

Scott looks at him in surprise. “What? No I was saying that I should stay.”

“Stay?” Stiles repeats. “Where?”

“With you.” They both repeat, and then give each other a look. 

“Jinx!” Stiles grins. 

“Stiles, you want me to stay with you right?” Scott asks, emphasizing ‘me’. 

Stiles blinks slowly, “No, no, I want my knight in snining armor.”

“ _Derek_?” Scott says, surprise clear in his tone. “You want _Derek_ to stay with you? Stiles…” he trails, like Derek is a serial killer or something. Stiles frowns. 

“Sourwolf is a very sweetwolf,” She says, a stupid smile gracing her face. 

“It’s fine, Scott. She’ll be safe with me here. Go get some rest. They might come back and we’ll need you at your strongest.”

Scott reluctantly nods, leaning over to hug Stiles one last time. Stiles pets his hair. 

 

“Is he out of the hospital?” Stiles slurs. Derek pauses, face concentrated. He shakes his head yes. “Ung. Good, that was getting exhausting,” she says casually. At Derek’s look, she raises an eyebrow, “You think the medicine they gave me is that strong?” she scoffs, “No I feel a little loopy, but I was playing it up so they’d leave already. They’re way too worried, you know? I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Their hair’s gonna turn grey, though, if they keep this much worrying up. 

“Oh,” Derek says. “Uh, do you want me to leave –“

“No,” she says quickly, like, way too quickly. She blushes a little. “I mean, protection, right? In case Sam’s cronies come back,” she smiled, but Derek stilled completely, a murderous look on his face. “Okay, so clearly we aren’t ready for jokes yet.” She hesitates, before patting the hospital bed twice. Derek watches. He raises an eyebrow and she pats it harder, more insistently. “Are you going to make me ask?”

“You… You want me on the bed with you?”

Stiles blanches, “Well, that makes it snoud nirty. Soud Sirty. Dirty. Dound Sirty. Fuck,” she hisses at herself. “I can’t…”

“Sound dirty?” offers Derek once more, smirking and slowly maneuvering to the bed.

“Yeah. That. Now s-top making fun of me and come watch t,v.”

 

Stiles knows she’s sly, using the tv to bait him into cuddling with her. But if he has a problem with it, he doesn’t say anything. She smiles, an arm around his side. They’re forced to squeeze together on this thing, and it’s perfect. He’s warm and comfortable and _Derek_. She feels higher on his smell than the drugs, hardly able to believe that Derek is complying to this right now. If someone had told Stiles that she’d be here, snuggling with Derek Hale, two years ago, she would’ve said, “How the fuck did you get inside my house? I’m calling the cops.”

“I wish that – you were today,” Stiles mumbles.

“You wish I was today?”

“I wish that were you today. This snight. I don’t like Sam.” Stiles knows she’ll wake up and regret the words, but, well, she can’t find it in herself to care right now. Derek just needs to know. She may never get to tell him. Panic and anxiety clouds her thoughts at that. What if the witches had been successful in tying her to them? Would she never have gotten to talk to her pack again? Her dad? 

“Sam is an asshole,” Derek grits out, his arm tightening around her. 

Stiles smiles, “Yeah.” Derek turns his head and looks at her. She shies quickly, fidgeting under his gaze. “Don’t look at me!”

Derek raises an eyebrow, his own way of questioning. Stiles feels herself blush again, and she dreads her next words. 

“They made me take off my bra,” she whispers, embarrassed. She pulls the thin, blue blanket up to her neck, and it hides the hospital gown. It isn’t really that big of a deal, but she’d never had to take off her shirt in front of everyone, like the others. Lydia and Malia are confident in their bodies, not really caring if anyone saw them, like that time Lydia had been in the woods, lost, for three days and Malia got turned back into a human. And, well, it feels like half the time, Derek, Liam, and Scott aren’t wearing shirts at all. Not that Stiles minds. Because no, sir, she does not.

But Stiles being nude? Or half nude? Or semi – nude? That’s something everyone could probably go without. It’s no secret she’s insecure about her body. She doesn’t have a figure like any of the girls; she’s mostly thin everywhere she doesn’t want to be, and the only place a little bit of fat accumulates is her stomach. And that much has been pointed out by way too many people. 

Derek laughs. Her head shoots up in surprise, because Derek’s _laughing_. Stiles can’t help but smile now, too, because it is silly. Derek’s softly chuckling, his head thrown back, but his ears are red, and there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“I won’t look at your chest,” Derek promises, a light tone instead of his usual sullen. 

“Such a gentle- gentlewolf,” she responds, rolling her eyes. A moment of bliss passes. A thought hits her like a truck, making her forget the happy moment. This might ruin the mood, but she has to say it before she forgets. “Hey, Derek? How did you find me?”

Derek swallows, “Uh, what do you mean?”

“How did you know I was in trouble?”

Derek pauses, clearing his throat. “I-uh- it… You screamed.”

“I screamed.”

“Yeah, it was, uh, loud,” Derek awkwardly says. 

“Derek,” she starts, “Only Lydia could scream loud enough for you to hear all the way from downtown…” Her brow wrinkles, “Wait, were you following me?”

Derek’s lips press together tightly, “Uh…”

“Oh my god! You total-y were!” she says, sitting upright. The wire connected to her chest tugs, but she ignores it. “You followed me? Why?”

Derek’s flustered, in a way Stiles hasn’t really seen before. She waits for an answers, unable to hide her amusement. “Stiles,” he warns. 

Why would Derek follow her downtown? He was supposed to be doing hot yoga! Instead, he decided to stalk them on their date –

Stiles gasps lightly, “You – were you _jealous_?”

Hopes were something she always did but never liked to get up. Derek is Derek, and Stiles is… Stiles. The chances of him returning feelings for her is something she’s never even allowed herself to think of. 

Derek chokes a little, and quickly shoots down the idea, with a sharp: “No! Of course not. I would never be jealous of… Why would you say that?”

It hurts more than Stiles thought it would. She recoils, “… I was kidding,” she snorts, “Are you actually that _appalled_?”

“Stiles –“

“Just forget it,” she says quietly. It’s petty, yeah, but Derek acted like she suggested to go murder puppies. Is liking Stiles really that hard to believe? Does it really deserve that much of a reaction? “I hav-e to go to the bathroom. You should go.” She unhooks the wire attached to her chest, and Derek’s eyes follow. Stiles pulls the IV machine with her, grabbing on for support. It wasn’t necessary, but they wanted to put her at ease, since she was ‘shaken’ from the ‘mugging’. “I’ll be fine. You can tell- tell that- tell everyone to come back in the morning.”

Stiles bites her lip, feeling tears welling in her eyes. And not from the discomfort in her feet. Bandages cover them, but they sting to walk on. She shakily makes her way into the connected bathroom. 

A couple of silent tears fall and she hastily rubs them. 

It’s stupid, but…Of course she wouldn’t get a date. Of course, the only reason someone would be interested in her is to use her for her potential spark. She’s stupid to think otherwise. When has anyone ever asked Stiles out without an ulterior motive?

Is this what Derek feels like? 

It’s a horrible feeling. 

How can she trust someone now? Anyone? Herself? This must be what Derek feels like. How does he go on? She’ll have to ask, because she just wants to sob loudly and maybe drown. Yeah, that’s fine. Just no hope for romance, ever. She’ll just be _platonically_ lusting after and loving Derek. No problem. She did it for nine years with Lydia. 

Thoughts so loud, Stiles doesn’t notice Derek standing by the door when she opens it. She startles, jumping, and the beeping on the heart rate monitor spikes.

“Christ, Derek,” she says, voice cracking and tries to subtly wipe her eyes. 

“Why are you upset?” 

She scoffs, “I don’t know, _Derek_. Maybe because my fucking date turns - turned out to be one of the evil lunatics we’re trying to hunt down? That I was fucking beat..en by? Or that I’m just so fucking _repulsive_ , you-“ she stumbled, feeling woozy. Her shoulder crashed into the side of the doorframe, making the iv stand fall and hit her in the head. She grumbled, rubbing sheepishly on her temple after righting it. 

Derek’s face twisted with concern. “Go lay down.”

“Fuck you,” she weakly replied, trudging over to the bed.

“Stiles, what happened tonight wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles doesn’t look at him, instead sits down about the time a nurse comes in, pursing his lips. “You aren’t supposed to take that off,” the guy gestures to the chord lying limply on the bed.

“I had to pee,” Stiles says, “What did you want me to go?”

The nurse frowns, “Next time, press the buzzer and someone will assist you.” He reaches into her gown and she blushes, looking away as he fumbles to connect the wire again. A male nurse touching your bare chest? Yeah. Awkward. The nurse pulls away finally, putting his hands on his hips as he spins around.

“Sir, you’ll have to leave. It’s way past visiting hours.” Derek’s fists clench and there’s a fiery look in his eyes. Stiles thinks she missed something. Derek tends to do that sometimes. She’ll look away, or say something wrong, and Derek nearly explodes. “Unless you’re immediate family,” the nurse adds, but he’s raising an eyebrow challengingly, because he knows who Stiles is. She’s been here more than a few times. 

“No,” Derek spits out. Stiles’ eyebrows raise. Yeah, the nurse is being rude too, but he’s probably tired after a long shift, and it’s midnight. Stiles probably woke him up by disconnecting the heart monitor. “I’ll leave.”

The nurse nods in satisfaction, leaving the room, and probably eager to get back to sleep. He pops his head back in the room a couple seconds later, a sharp look on his face, “I’m coming back in ten minutes, and if you’re not gone by then, I’m calling security.” He disappears then, probably sauntering away triumphantly. 

Derek steps over to the bed effortlessly, and his nose is suddenly in her neck. She swallows, trying not to think about how close he is, and that his chest is touching hers. She tries, and fails miserably, to keep her heart beat steady. He rubs, and Stiles remembers the whole _scenting_ thing. He’s obviously uneasy, by the way he reluctantly lets go. She’s not sure why, though. 

Oh right; he made a promise to his alpha to take care of her and stay in the room. 

Stiles feels guilty for putting everyone through this. 

“You,” she swallows, “You, uh, can stay. If you want.” She doesn’t want Scott to have another reason to distrust him. They’re finally getting alone. Sort of.

Derek raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the empty door where the nurse just left, as if to say, ‘no, I can’t.’ Stiles rolls her eyes. 

“I’m pretty sure you can. Beacon Hills Hospital is pretty Lenny- er, lenient on the guide and comfort animals,” Derek gives her a blank look, “You know,” she says again, with more emphasis, “Your _party trick_.”

Derek gives a dubious look. “You want me to wolf out here?”

“If there’s no cameras, I don’- don’t see why not,” Stiles grins. The full wolf shift is still incredible, months later. They’ve seen it a handful of times. No one asks, mainly because it’s sort of awkward, but Stiles isn’t afraid of it right now. After all, she was pretty disappointed when she first found out that Scott wouldn’t actually shift into a wolf a couple years ago. “But if you don’t want to stay, I’m cool with that too. I’ll buzz this thing if a witch comes back for me. Angry nurse nude will be my new knight in ‘nining armor,” she winks, holding up the alert button on the side of the bed. 

Derek growls, mildly surprising her, stomping into the bathroom and returning a couple minutes later. As a wolf. 

He’s beautiful. His black fur is long and shiny, like his coat was recently brushed. Stiles wonders if the wolf side gets clean too, every time he showers. She also wonders if it’d be rude to ask that. His paws are huge, only a little smaller than Stiles’ hands. He’s probably bigger than the average wolf, but she’s not sure.

Stiles squeals, jumping up and down on her bed. Whatever. It’s the morphine. Derek looks… well… he’s a wolf, but if she had to guess, she’d say inconvenienced. She pats the bed twice, and Derek glares. “Come on, sourwolf. You can’t comfort me from the floor.”

He stares at her for a second, calculatingly. His eyes seem to narrow, staring at Stiles and the bed, like he’s wondering whether he should do it or not. After a moment of Stiles impatiently demanding him, Derek puffs out air, leaping onto the bed gracefully. It moves and bounces under his weight a little. He plops down carefully by Stiles, head gently resting on her stomach after a careful moment’s debate.

“Whoah,” she breathes, “Can I…?” her hand hovering over his fur questioningly. He gives something of a nod, and a little noise that Stiles infers as the green light. Until told otherwise, right? 

She doesn’t know: is it weird to pet a powerful, werewolf pack mate that happens to be Derek Hale when shifted into a human? Impolite? What _is_ proper werewolf handling etiquette?

She combs her fingers through the soft fur, grinning, because this is honestly amazing. She’s _petting_ Derek. Derek is soft and fluffy and she wants to bury her face in his fur. His eyes close slowly, making her grin deepen. 

“You know,” she says pensively after a moment, “This doesn’t mean I’m not a pissed with you still, but I’m definitely pissed with you _less_.” She giggles, “Now that you’re doing this, you can’t stop. It’s going to be fun, and you’ll be the family k9. We’ll all give you belly rubs, and scratch your ears and it’ll be domestic as fuck,” she dreamily says, only imagining the face Kira will make in excitement. She wasn’t ever aloud to have pets.

Derek’s ears suddenly push back, and his hackles raise. 

“Okay, or not. Yeah, We totally don’t have to do that,” she says warily. “I was just telling you what I think’d be cool. But yeah. If you’d rather crush my spirit and dreams, then that’s fine too –“

She’s cut off by the sounds of sneakers squeaking on the floor next to her room. She shuts up as the nurse enters the room. 

He looks at Derek in surprise. 

“Oh. _Oh_. Hey,” Stiles says nervously, over Derek’s growls and bared teeth. The guy looks frightened. “This is my, uh, service dog… Miguel. He’s usually very friendly, _I don’t know why he’s acting like a jerk_ ,” Stiles says the last part through her teeth, glaring at the dark wolf who doesn’t look at her. 

He nods, “I just have to check the IV,” he says, stepping closer to Stiles. Derek’s growls intensify, to the point where he’s almost snarling, His ears are up, pushed back warily. His fangs are glistening with spit, and man, Derek looks feral. 

“Uh, I’m fine, honestly,” Stiles nervously laughed, “He’s usually really not this _rude_. But, uh, you know how animal instincts are when they- their pack is hurt, right? Very proactive - _protective_ , I mean.” she grimaces, because that’s way truer than initially thought. 

“Uh,” the guy says, backing away, “I didn’t see him come in.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. “He, um, was in the bathroom while Derek, the man, was here…They don’t… get along very well.” Besides the awkward pauses in her speech, she is _nailing_ this. For someone pretty stoned off drugs, she is amazing.

“Okay,” he says, looking eager to leave. Derek has that effect on people. “Alright, just buzz if you need anything,” he mumbles, closing the door on his way out.

 

Derek settles down when the door closes, lowering his head back down on Stiles’ stomach. She glares, flicking his forehead. “Bad Derek!”

Derek glares back, his ears pressing down on the top of his head. 

“That was uncalled for. You’re not a very believable therapy dog.” Derek glares harder. “Okay, fine, you’re not a very believable therapy _wolf_. The nurse almost pissed his pants!” Derek huffs in an amused sort of way, Stiles thinks, and his tail even thumps the bed a couple times. “You’re strange,” Stiles caves, sharing a smirk. “It _was sort of_ funny, though.”

Derek’s tail _wags_ again. He army crawls up to Stiles’ face, and then snuffles around in her neck. His nose is cold and wet and makes her wiggle. Derek rubs his cold nose across her jaw. “Derek, that tickles!” Derek decides to cover her face in slobber then, licking a huge strip up her face. 

“Derek!” she squeals, laughing and wiping off the saliva. She scratches behind his ear, and almost dies when Derek grumbles lowly, like he’s _purring_ or something. She presses her lips together to keep from bursting. She hopes this isn’t her hallucinating.

 

!!!

 

She doesn’t know when she fell asleep, but when her eyes flutter open, she realizes it’s probably morning, what with the way everyone is in the room, waiting for her to wake up. She jolts, taking in a deep breath. 

“Hey,” she says, smiling. Derek’s already awake, still laying on the bed silently. Stiles wants to run her fingers through his fur again, but second guesses it. She doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of the pack. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Lydia says in a soft voice. “How ‘ya feeling?”

She looks more put together today, wearing real clothes, heels, and even a purse. Stiles grins, because that’s the Lydia Martin she knows. Her eyes flick to where someone is fidgeting, and her eyes widen. 

“Dad! I didn’t even see you there!” 

The Sheriff has a worried look on his face, clasping his hands together until his knuckles are white. “Stiles!” he breathes, and stands up, wrapping Stiles in a firm but gentle hold. 

“I’m so sorry, Dad.”

“It’s not your fault, Stiles,” he says sternly, “I’m just glad you’re okay. We all are.”

“Does this mean I can come home now?” she already begins to unclasp the thing on her finger. She plucks out the IV and her dad winces.

“Now slow down, Stiles. It’s –“

“Melissa said just ‘till morning so they could make sure the concussion is alright, but I know it’s alright because they gave me morphine. They wouldn’t do that if I really had a bad concussion, because that would’ve caused inflammation and possible permanent damage.”

Her dad presses his lips together, annoyed. “Nothing gets past you, Stiles. It’s worrying.”

“Yeah, well. I’m the brains of this group,” she says, grinning. “Weak human’s gotta be something, right?”

Her dad frowns at the word human, eyes resting on Derek.

“Oh, yeah,” she snorts, “Last night a nurse caught him, so he pretended to be my therapy dog. Probably better if he stays that way until we leave, though. Otherwise they’ll get suspicious since they didn’t see him come in and didn’t see _Miguel_ leave.” 

 

“That’ll never not be weird,” her dad says gruffly. “When you know that’s actually a person…”

“Are you feeling better?” Scott asks, ignoring her dad and Derek. 

“Yeah, I’m great. Ready to go home, though. Whatd’ya say, fam? Let’s get out of here,” she says in a cheesy voice, quoting, like, every movie ever. “Miguel, come here, Boy!”

…

 

Stiles is wheeled out of the hospital (because _policies_ ) with a parade behind her. She smiles, because it’s just so ridiculous. Scott lifts her from the door to the car which isn’t necessary either, but she doesn’t fight her alpha on this one. She won’t win. 

“So, where we going?” she says once she’s buckled in. “Scott’s? Mine? Did you guys find any more books? Do we know anything about the other clan members? If they’re still powerful? Is Deaton back in town?”

“Slow down, now, Stiles,” her dad says, a disapproving look on his face.  
“Stiles,” Scott says at the same time, from the back seat. He chose to ride with Stiles and his dad. They put Derek in the very back, who glared the whole time. Kira sits next to Scott. Lydia, Malia, and Liam took Lydia’s car. “We’re not doing that today.”

“What?”

“We’re going back to your house, for that pack movie night you wanted,” Kira offers sweetly. 

Stiles’ eyes go wide, “Really?”

“It’s more of a pack movie _morning_ ,” Kira corrects, smiling. 

Stiles beams, “That’s awesome! You guys are awesome! Man, I’m so excited. This is totally a pity present, but I’m still super excited! What movie are we watching? Can I pick? No, no, we should all agree on it. But if it’s _The Notebook_ , I will scream. Lydia has no say. Does that mean everyone? Even Derek? Can we have popcorn? I’m in the mood for popcorn!”

Stiles’ dad laughs, “Calm down, Stiles. But hey, it’s good to know you’re back to yourself.”

“Hell yeah I am! I’ve been suggesting this for _months_ , dad.”

“Language,” her dad warned, but it was an empty threat. After everything, saying ‘hell’ was the least of their worries. He still said it out of habit, though. She thinks it helps him feel more normal – the situation, and Stiles. 

…

 

Stiles isn’t allowed to walk by herself. After the first fall, in attempt to grab a soda, everyone is too on edge. Stiles doesn’t blame them, no matter how annoying it. She’d feel the same way about the others if their positions were swapped. She tries not to get up unless she has to, but allowing other people to do everything for her is unusual and feels wrong. They, of course, love doing it, so she lets them, begrudgingly. 

“Thank you, sugarpuff,” she says to Liam with a wink and finger gun as he hands her a can of liquid diabetes. Healthy-shmealthy. Liam rolls his eyes with a fond smile, and plops down next on the other side of Scott. Stiles is in the middle of Derek and Scott, Derek being on the edge of the long couch. Lydia and Kira sit on the love seat, and Malia sits alone in the arm chair. Stiles leans her head on Scott’s lap, and carefully puts her feet across Derek’s lap, just to see his reaction. She watches in surprise as Derek _doesn’t growl at her_ , or at least push them off. 

She smiles – beams – at him. He just grunts, and returns his attention back to the DVR that Malia is currently growling at, trying to stuff in the film. Lydia sighs, and moves to assist her.

Scott tugs lightly at her hair and she can’t stop smiling – she loves it when he, or basically anyone does that. Call her a massage slut, but it’s true. Who doesn’t love it? It’s like a head massage. Her hair still has messy, awkward curls in it from last night, but she doesn’t care. Her pack doesn’t either. 

She suddenly feels a little ridiculous for being self-conscious. It’s her pack. She shouldn’t care. It’s not her way of paying rent in the world, as a woman, to be beautiful. 

No matter how beautiful a certain broody werewolf is that sits next to her. Whatever. He’s a werewolf, and werewolf really… changes someone’s beauty. Take Erica, for example. Cute and nerdy before, and then suddenly a gorgeous model after. She wonders what Derek would look like as a human. 

Wait. 

 

He was a human before the big change. But he was still gorgeous! God damn it. 

“What are you thinking about?” Scott asks gently, “Your scent kind of –“

“Nothing,” she interrupts quickly, forcing a smile. She doesn’t want him to say it. Whatever it went to, insecurity, sadness, anger, she doesn’t want to know. Or anyone else. “Just stupid stuff. Do you guys need help putting in the movie?” she turns to where Malia and Lydia are staring and frowning. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. You just put it in with the cover facing up, shove it in, and then press play. These things are supposed to be second nature to nineties kids,” she huffs.

They share a look that Stiles despises, but nod and correctly put it in. 

The theme song for _The Avengers_ plays, and Stiles brightens, a genuine smile on her face. The pack is watching her. She pretends not to notice, instead humming along annoyingly. That’s what regular Stiles would do. 

!!!

“This fuckin’ movie,” she comments gleefully some ways into it, shaking her head when Captain America is an adorable idiot. She stretches a little, shifting her position so that her head is on Derek’s lap and feet in Scott’s. She barely even registers she’s doing it; her right side is just sore and she feels like changing positions. 

 

!!!

“PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE, PEPPER!” Stiles shouts, eyes stinging even though she’s watched this movie so many times she’s memorized most of the words. Tony is trying to contact her from inside the suit. “YOU STUPID IDIOT!”

Pepper doesn’t answer the phone and the look on Tony Stark’s face is heart breaking. He doesn’t break his façade much, only really when it comes to important people like Pepper or Agent Coulson. And it’s overwhelming, because he doesn’t ever tell anyone how much he cares for them. He’s all stiff and stuff to strangers, but once he connects with someone, he’s the biggest sweetheart ever. A secret sweetheart.

That’s where Stiles can’t relate, but it’s what makes him 3-d, to Stiles.  
“Stiles,” Scott’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts. It’s way too soft. The movie is actually paused, Scarlett Johansson’s distressed face frozen on the screen. Everyone’s staring at her again. 

“Yeah, buddy?”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m…?” she touches underneath her eyes, wincing at the flash of pain that came with it. Right. The bruise. But Scott is right; in fact, her entire face from the eyes down is like a river. She props up on her elbows, frowning in confusion. The knees of Derek’s pants are wet, wait, Derek? Her eyebrows furrow, “Derek? When did that happen?”

She counts her fingers. Ten. “It’s not a dream,” she says aloud. “Fuck.”

“Are we not going to talk about it?” Malia huffs impatiently after a moment of dead silence. “Are we just going to stare at her? Obviously, Stiles needs to –“

“-Needs to what, Malia?” snaps Lydia, “If the next words that come of your mouth are along the lines of ‘get over it’, I will be screaming your name next, because I am going to actually murder you. Got it?”

Malia quiets, pressing her lips together.

“Okay, Lyds. Thanks for the enthusiasm, but she’s right. I’m helping no one. I don’t want this to be a big deal and you to have to walk on egg shells for me, okay? We’ve been through worse. All of us. I need to stop thinking about it.”

“No, Stiles. That’s the opposite of what you want to do. You know how I know? Peter did the same thing to me. And I tried to push it away and hide it, and that made it worse, okay? I had nightmares for months. I was afraid to let my guard down, to sleep, to do _anything_ at all. Do _not_ pretend this isn’t a big deal, because it is. So let us do what we need to, to comfort you, because you’ve done the same for each one of us. It’s not an inconvenience, Stiles. It’s not. You’re important too.”

Stiles’ mouth drops a little, but she nods, licking her lips. “Okay. Thanks,” she whispers. It’s probably the shortest thing she’s ever said.

“Lydia’s right,” Liam says, worry etched on his face. “You’re scared, and it’s okay. You usually keep it together really well, for what we’ve been through.”

Stiles snorts, wiping her eyes with a tissue handed to her by Kira, “You want to know my secret? I’m always afraid,” she does her best to imitate the hulk. No one laughs. “Wow, tough crowd.”

“You can’t joke your way out of this one, Stiles,” Malia sighs.

“I despise that.”

“You can cry,” Kira prompts, “It’s okay, really.”

“You want me to cry in front of everyone?” she skeptically says, eyes narrowing.

“We’re not just everyone. We’re pack. You’ve seen us in worse,” Scott says. “Like that time in third grade when Jackson pantsed me in front of the whole class and I cried in front of everyone.”

Stiles smiles, biting down on her lip to keep from laughing, “That was hilarious.”

“Or the time I lost control on the full moon and ate an entire deer by myself. And then showed up at your door throwing up raw animal parts and covered in blood,” Derek says suddenly, surprising Stiles. She looks up at him, admiration in her eyes. Derek is surprising her every day. 

She giggles. “That’s something you can’t just forget. No matter how hard I tried.”

The pack goes around, sharing embarrassing stories and Stiles finally cracks, half laughing and half sobbing, and it’s beautiful and painful all at once. 

She ends up in Derek’s lap, clutching onto his bicep and sobbing. The pack is gathered around, all placing at least a hand on her, except for Malia, who’s uncomfortably sitting on the couch. It probably reeks of emotions. She doesn’t blame her for it. Malia isn’t exactly… sentimental. She did, however, share an embarrassing story about when she first went back to high school.

“It’s settled,” she blubbers dramatically, “I’m never going to get a date ever again!”

Derek isn’t tense like she thought he’d be. He’s holding her closely, making her feel _safe_ and she never wants to leave his arms. 

“Yeah, outside the pack,” Malia mumbles quietly, rolling her eyes. Stiles sniffs.

“What?” 

Malia’s eyes widen, alarmed, like she didn’t think Stiles was going to hear her. “Nothing!”

“What?” Stiles repeats, looking up in confusion. Derek looks _livid_. What the hell is going on? “What’s that supposed to mean? Dating _inside_ the pack?”

“It’s nothing,” Derek says quickly. “She _doesn’t know what she’s talking about_ ,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Stiles rubs her eyes again, “No, what do you mean? In our pack? Who is there – I’m confused. Who do –“

“- Maybe we should leave,” Lydia interrupts quickly, gesturing towards the door. Malia doesn’t have to be told twice, because she’s out of her seat and through the door faster than humanely possible. Kira nods, and pulls at Scott’s hand, who looks as confused as Stiles feels. 

“Wait – no! Scott?! Lyds? Kira? _Baby Wolf_ , don’t you dare leave – Liam – where are you going? Guys?!” Stiles cried out as everyone suddenly filed out of the room, leaving just Derek and her. “Guys! You’re supposed to be supporting me in my time of need, you assholes!”

Derek makes a move to leave, but Stiles holds him down. Well, he lets her. If he really wants to, he’ll have no problem moving her. 

“Nu-huh, big guy. Not until you explain whatever that just was.”

Derek looks uncomfortable now, awkwardly looking away. “Just forget it.”

“Derek.”

“Drop it.”

“No.”

“I said _drop_ it, Stiles,” he hisses.

“Derek!”

“Please.” Derek suddenly says, like he just offered a million dollars in exchange for silence. “ _Please,_ drop it.”

“You know that only makes me want to know more, right? Come on.”

“No.”

“Please just tell me what she means –“

“ _No_ ,” his jaw is doing the thing that it does when he gets frustrated.

“Derek!”

“Stiles, I said-“

“I know what you said, but I want to know what Malia meant by ‘dating inside the pack’. Obviously not Kira or Scott, and I don’t like Lydia anymore, and no way would she swing my way… That leaves you and Liam, wait - _you and Liam_? Do… You like me?”

“Stiles…”

“Derek… Are you… Is it you?”

Derek ignored that. “I should go.”

“So it is you?” Stiles’ chest felt lighter, and _oh my god, Derek likes me!_

“I need to go,” Derek repeats, voice strangled. 

“No, wait! You’re going to admit to liking me and then leave?”

Derek let out a choking noise, “I didn’t want to tell you – you weren’t supposed to know.”

Stiles frowns. Why shouldn’t she know? It’s like her right, for god sakes! It should be a law, to make it known when you’re crushing on someone. Because, holy god, Derek likes her. And if Malia hadn’t said that, she’d have possibly never known. 

“Why is that so bad? Everyone has crushes.”

“I don’t want to… Can you just forget that it happened?”

“No! I’m not going to forget that. It changes everything.”

Derek’s face tightens, “I thought so.” He removes Stiles, sliding her down the couch. 

“No, Derek, not in the bad way,” she quickly calls, pulling him down. He frowns starting to say something, but his words are muffled, because Stiles is kissing him. He sinks back down to the couch, or, well, Stiles pulls him. She gently moves her lips against his, before pulling back. “Is, is that okay?” she says breathlessly. 

Derek is broken. His eyes are wide and vulnerable, and mouth parted in surprise. He nods, though his eyes are trained on Stiles’ lips. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Do you know how much sooner we could’ve been doing that? Why didn’t you just drop a casual ‘hey, I think I like you’?”

“Because, Stiles. It’s more than that,” he says so quietly it’s almost a whisper. 

“You mean… Like… Love?” Stiles asks, trying to reign in herself from getting too excited. 

“Yeah,” Derek repeats, licking his lips. He isn’t making eye contact, but Stiles knows it’s because he’s flustered. His cheeks are an adorable shade of pink. 

“And you don’t think I feel the same way?”

Derek pauses, then tries to shrug casually. 

Stiles burst out laughing, unable to contain it. “Derek Hale being insecure? That’s a new one. But it explains a lot. More than a lot. All of it,” she snorts. She sobers a second later, “Wait! That means, last night, when I told you those things… You really were jealous!”

“ _That’s_ what you’re dwelling on?” he glares, unamused. 

“Well… Yeah!”

Derek huffs in false anger.

“Oh, just kiss me, Sourwolf.”

He does.  
…

 

It turns out that Derek’s reaction had a fairly good reason. 

He blames himself for it, because if ‘they’d been dating, Sam wouldn’t have asked Stiles out and gotten her alone, and Stiles wouldn’t have ended up with this big fat bruise on the side of her face that Derek keeps touching. And, also, Derek is the jealous type. Which comes as a surprise, with, you know, it being Derek and all. He tries to hide it and stop from being clingy, but Stiles knows the wolf is bound to be like that. 

“Okay, Derek, it only hurts when you touch it. Are you creating pain to take it? Is that some sort of kink?” Derek glares without any heat behind it. “Stop doing that!” she swats his hand away. “It’s almost gone, anyways.”

“Ew, stop doing… that!” Malia cringes from across the room, head buried in an old witch book. 

“Shut up! They’re being cute. Stiles, Derek, keep being cute. Don’t let Malia be a douche,” Kira says. 

Stiles rolls her eyes. “Kira, you’re doing it again.”

“Right. Sorry! I will go ship,” she points to where Scott is conversing with Liam, “Over there. From a distance. Carry on!”

Derek glares at her and she sqeaks, running to her alpha. 

So, it’s a little weird, but for the most part, everyone is on board with it. Derek is flustered because the girls(including Stiles), keep teasing him for being a shy, awkward wolf instead of his usual confident self, but Scott has yet to say anything, but no one misses the looks he gives Derek. 

“So the most important thing right now,” interrupts Lydia, who’s sitting next to Malia, “Is to keep Stiles away from all things Spark related. I don’t think they will, not until they rebuild their clan, but if they come back, they can’t be able to trace her.”

“No, I want to pursue it,” Stiles says, “I’ll go to Deaton, but I think I actually want to activate it, or whatever.”

A low growl comes from Scott, “No.”

“No?” she raises an eyebrow to Scott. Malia and Liam watch with wide eyes, the two most connected to the werewolf pack, besides Derek. But Derek doesn’t really follow Scott as closely, because he’s like his mentor or whatever, and… yeah. The two look uncomfortable, because Stiles is challenging Scott, _disobeying her alpha,_ or whatever.

“No, Stiles. I’m not – You can’t join their cult! It’s too dangerous, and your family is in Beacon Hills, I –“

“You think I’m joining their cult?” she narrows her eyes. “Really, Scott?”

“If you start practicing magic, it’ll be like that. It’ll draw them right to you, like an invitation,” Lydia comments. 

“Well, maybe Deaton can find a way to –“

“No!” growls Scott, slamming his computer closed and standing. “You are _not_ practicing magic, Stiles! That’s it. End of story.”

Derek tenses, pulling Stiles closer to him, eyes flashing blue at Scott. She won’t say it, but it’s adorable how fiercely protective he is, even when it comes to Scott, because they all know Scott would never forgive himself if he ever hurt Stiles. Scott’s flash red back, and he storms out of the house.

Malia is glaring at Stiles, and she sighs, disconnecting herself from Derek. “I’m going to go check on him.”

 

“Scott?”

His claws are digging into tree bark outside of his house. He’s breathing heavily, and Stiles worries about his control. 

“What?” he barks. Heh. _Bark_. Two puns right there. 

“We need to talk, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles.

“Okay. Let’s take a walk, away from eavesdropping werewolves,” she winks, emphasizing the last part for the wolves that are most likely, definitely, listening in. 

They wonder into the woods, Scott giving her a piggy back ride, until they’re out of earshot. 

“So what’s bothering you?” she says, hopping off and sitting down in the grass, back against a tree. Scott mirrors the action.

He swallows, “You won’t like it.”

She sighs, “It’s Derek and me, isn’t it?”

He gives her a guilty look. “It’s just… It’s Derek. Stiles, I’m worried –“

“Don’t be. It’s Derek. He’s a great person, really. You just have to get to know him past the growly threats. What’s your concern?”

“He… What if he hurts you?”

“What? You mean, like, hump and dump? Because A, any person in their right mind will be more than happy to give their v-card up to Derek, and B… Scott, Derek’s demi sexual. He literally cannot just hump and dump someone.”

Scott nods, like he understands, and cringes when Stiles uses the term ‘hump and dump’. She smiles at his discomfort, because it’s hilarious. “But… You’re a human. He’s a werewolf. A powerful one.”

Stiles laughs, “Scotty, you were a new werewolf dating a human a couple years ago. Derek’s a born wolf. He has the most control of anyone. You think he’s going to hurt me? He won’t. I guarantee you.”

“How can you have so much confidence?”

“Because Derek’s never hurt anyone he loved on purpose. None of it was his fault. Not Paige, and not his family either. He doesn’t do that. He’s not Peter.”

“I know,” Scott whispers. 

Stiles smiles, grabbing his hand. “There’s no reason to be worried, Scotty. I know you’re being a protective big brother figure, but I think Derek would really appreciate you _not_ looking at him like he murdered your first born. Look… Derek… I know he’s… Derek, but he’s a good person. And I’m happy. I want you to be happy for me, too.”

 

Scott nods, pulling her in for a tight hug. She groans as the air gets knocked out of her. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Stiles laughs, “No way, man. We both know I’ll break that promise before the day’s over. Now come on, I’m starving. I let my dad buy pie. I think I took a couple years off his life by making him worry so much. It’s blueberry.”

…

 

Scott does give his blessing, of which Stiles is relived and Derek is only happy because it makes Stiles happy. 

Their relationship is still new and they’re still figuring it out, but it works. They make it work, and both of them are happier than they have been in months. Years, maybe. 

They don’t tell the Sheriff, not yet. Derek won’t touch Stiles until she’s eighteen, and it kills her, because Derek is sexual frustration on legs. He is, however, a spectacular kisser. And he gives amazing piggy back rides. And no, that is not a euphemism. 

They learn new things about each other. Stiles, that Derek fucking _loves_ macaroni and cheese, cranberry juice, and Desperate Housewives. Stiles laughs for a solids five minutes when he admits the latter, and Derek literally runs away in embarrassment. She makes it up to him by cooking macaroni and cheese and setting up Netflix with Desperate Housewives. He actually smiles, and for a moment she thinks he might weep tears of joy, when she offers to watch the entire series with him. 

Derek learns that Stiles loves cuddling, and he certainly doesn’t mind that. Wolves are surprisingly affectionate. Stiles also loves Derek’s stubble, and wearing his clothes. He agrees with the last one, too. It would usually annoy him, but there’s something comical about seeing Stiles struggle to keep on his clothes that are, like, a hundred sizes too big. And if it makes him feel warm and happy and his wolf soothed, well. That’s just another plus. 

 

The witches aren’t the last creatures they defend themselves and their city against, nor is it the last time one of them gets hurt, but it’s the last time it happens to them alone. One is always there to pick the other up, and yell at each other for their idiocy. 

“Derek, you stupid idiot!” Stiles screams through her sobs, crouched over Derek. He’s barely conscious, deep claw marks from the dragon across his chest. “Don’t you dare fucking leave me! Don’t you do it, Derek Hale! You can’t. You can’t!” she sobs, slapping his face, “We’re only on season seven of Desperate Housives! We haven’t _finished!_ ”

Stiles picks up a blade, slowly cutting into Derek’s arm. The healing process should be triggered, right? It has to be! “Derek!” she sobs, tears pouring down her face. “Derek! Please!” she whimpers, digging through her pocket. Her hand clasps on the small syringe. “I’m so sorry, Derek. This is going to hurt.”

She plunges it into his thigh, grimacing. Surely enough, Derek’s startled awake, probably by the intense burning throughout his body. He screams in pain, body twitching and moving awkwardly in pain. It’s torture for both of them, Stiles sobbing the entire time, holding him hand that clenches around hers tightly. He’s half wolfed out from the pain. 

He passes out soon, and she quickly listens for his breathing, letting out a watery laugh. “Oh thank god, Derek. You’re alive. I love you, so, so much,” she wipes her eyes with her arm hastily, “God, I –“

“It,” Derek wheezes, eyes opening slowly, “It took me being mauled by a dragon for you to say ‘I love you’ first,” he pants. 

Stiles laughs, because when Derek makes a joke, you laugh, but it’s mostly of relief. She hugs him as genly as she can, sniffing into his neck. “I know. I’m a stupid idiot and I should’ve said it sooner. I love you so goddamn much, Derek Hale. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He groans, trying to sit up, “I love you too, Stiles. I always have, always will.”

“I have too, Derek. Now let’s get home. The dragon is slayed, and you need to recover. And then prove to me just how much you love me,” she grins, helping Derek limp in the woods. He offers a weak smile. 

“Why does it always turn you on when I’m injured?”

“Because you’re my knight in snining snormor. And you’re hot as fuck. And very good in bed.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “charming.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think! I love feedback! If I made any mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> AND WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME HOW TO CHANGE THE FORMATTING SO THAT IT ACTUALLY INDENTS PARAGRAPHS? Why is it so complicated??


End file.
